whirl me around
in your lips
chew me up
and spit me out
with your harsh angry syllables
and i will tumble off your tongue
rolling and rolling
across the linoleum
until i reach the
door

Bloomed (one word)

i want to bloom like a flower
that has not bloomed
i have not bloomed

yet.

and i dont know if i will ever
what if i am not like all the flowers that have come before
what if i am not a
late bloomer
but a
never bloomer
a not-bloomer

i want to bloom
for i have not bloomed

explanations

i write my poems fast
like the brewing of a coffee machine
on the tinkling commercial from the
9 am TV.
quick
like the pulling off of a band-aid in the shower
the fear for the pain that will follow

i'd like to think my words
were that raw

drowsy

what is it
that is keeping me up
writing

when i could so
easily sneak off
to bed

i am
done
babysitting she has handed me
the money
and i have walked back
down the steps to my
apartment

i have even completed
the hardest arduous task
of getting ready
and could just turn off the lights
and slip and slide
and roll
into the river
of my mind

but
instead i sit here typing
almost as if im searching for
something but i dont know
what
only that i wont be able to sleep
to stop until im satisfied
that my pajama-getting
and toothbrushing have been useless
unless i discover
what it is i
seek

epiphany

sometimes i think my sparks of inspiration are insightful
but then later in a better frame of mind
i read over what i've written and laugh

round
and
r o
 u n d
the merry go
round
the merry go
round
the merry goes
around
and
s t o p s

i want to sit with you
in the treetops
and look at you
with the green leaves
touching your hair
and your smile so bright
it reflects off them
and the mosquitoes
biting my newly tanned legs
and the sun shining through
and it all looking so much
like a movie
that i cant even
believe
its real

(ramblings)

tidbits
of words
and syllables
that become something
more
from typing
one night
late
they become something
bigger
and better
and you edit
and re
edit
and re
vise
until they
become
something
more
and expand
from the page
and the written
reading mind
and are beyond
your
comprehension so you
can't quite think too
hard about
them
or you'll most
definitely
lose them
and those tidbits
will not be
more but
less